As most of you know, my beautiful Boy turned 7 a few weeks ago.
For many reasons--the least of which being I'M A TERRIBLE MOTHER--he's NEVER had a proper birthday party with school pals and presents, intemperance and chaos, anarchy and fiery distruction.
Tomorrow I set that record straight.
My guilt led me to approve a guest list of 16 sticky, feral boys.
Prey for us now, and in the hour of our death.
In an effort to focus the energies of the these sixteen wee lordlings of havoc, I have decreed that there shall be a treasure hunt.
Yes. After the hot dogs, but before the presents, the little darlings will be sent on an adventure.
Maps shall be furnished. Clues must needs be deciphered. Much fun will be had by all.
The only catch being----my demon guests are Norwegians, and I'm completely norsk challenged. I can't write any of the damn clues! Gah!
At this very moment, Mister is sitting at the kitchen table, nursing his third rum and coke, trying to churn out a series of 16 cutesy rhymes leading to a cache of candy bags buried out in the backyard.
You have no idea how much it pains me--THE WRITER--to have to hand this delicate task over to he--THE FUMBLING ENGINEER!